Why Can't I Bring Myself to Hate You?
by DJTriumphant
Summary: Erik writes his innermost thoughts. Companion piece to Anyway You Choose but can stand alone. Dark.


I never intended this to go this way, but it wrote itself while I was fleshing it out. It kept wanting to be written in second person, so I kept it like that and made it into a letter. This is much darker than I usually write. This is a companion piece to **Anyway You Choose**, but it can stand alone.

Disclaimer: No, I do not own anything from Phantom of the Opera, be it Leroux's, Kay's, Webber's, or anyone in between.

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**Why Can't I Bring Myself to Hate You?**

_Christine-_

_I don't know why I write this. It is not in my nature to act before thinking. Perhaps I simply want to let it be known. I don't want my story to die._

_Christine, I must be as brutally honest as I always have been. Do not throw down this letter in disgust or despair. It is the least you can do for me. Consider it my final request._

_Why can't I bring myself to hate you?_

_You left with him. You **left** me to die, awaiting destruction at the hands of a rabid mob. I don't know why I saved myself._

_There's nothing left for me._

_I gave you my heart, my love._

_I gave you my mind, my passion._

_Most dear to me, I gave you my music._

_It wasn't enough._

_You betrayed me. You threw it all away and gave it to that boy. I haven't been able to play since that night, since Don Juan. Since my failed Opera. _

_You were my inspiration, my muse. As pathetic as it sounds, you were the reason I awoke each morning. When you arrived at the Opera Populaire, I was in despair. My music was at a stand-still and the novelty of being the Opera Ghost beneath the Opera was gone. Being alone in this labyrinth was harder than I ever imagined it could be. I desperately needed companionship and a challenge. You provided both. _

_At first, you were simply a distraction, but you quickly grew to more._

_I watched you often and marveled at your tenacity and grace, your potential and your hard work. I knew that you could be great, and you fufilled my every expectation. I no longer coached you for my sake, but yours. _

_I watched over you as you grew from a scared little orphan to a mature, confident Diva. When you sang Hannibal I could not have been any prouder. My student, my protege had dazzeled all of Paris. I could not help but come to you that night._

_Enough of this! I did not mean to reminisce on past triumphs, but present matters._

_I did all of this for you, yet why can't I bring myself to loathe you?_

_I truly do hope you are happy with your Vicomte. I saw you both in Apollo's Lyre on the night of Il Muto. I watched as you two declared your love and devotion to each other. Each word, each promise drove me further into madness._

_I don't hold it against you._

_I am still surprised that I had deluded myself to believe that I could be happy._

_Monsters are never happy._

_Monsters are never loved._

_One of us should be._

_Then, just recently, I saw you and your betrothed when you returned to the Opera. I was hiding in the shadows of my Box. You looked at me and though you could not have seen me, I shrank further back into the shadows at the sadness in your eyes. It reminded me of myself whenever I catch myself in the mirror. My heart broke to think that I caused you such pain. What else could it be?_

_I truly am a demon to cause an Angel such pain._

_Then, your dear betrothed came to you from behind. I could not bear to watch any longer when you looked at him with such love and devotion._

_I hid in my lair._

_I haven't left it since._

_Oh, why can't I bring myself to hate you?_

_Maybe it's because I love you too much._

_Enough to let you go._

_I set you free of your past, your shadows, and of me._

_You gave a monster hope and happiness in it's darkest days._

_Live your life, my dear, my love, my Angel, my Christine._

_-Your Erik_

Gently, he placed the letter in the box for Madame Giry. He knew the letter would eventually reach Christine.

Erik smoothed the paper lovingly one last time, then vanished from the Box. Traveling down pathways known only to him, he quickly reached his lair. With shaking hands, he gathered the wood together. Sending one last prayer to Christine and to God, he lit the match.

_Free At Last..._

_I Love You, Christine_

_

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_I really didn't want to end it this way as I do not believe in suicide at all, but it refused to be written any other way. Please tell me what you think. 


End file.
